


Text Messages Cannot Convey Feelings

by Encyclopedianerdia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, First Kiss, Love, M/M, Protective Sherlock, Stalking, Suicide Attempt, suicide note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Encyclopedianerdia/pseuds/Encyclopedianerdia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the texts sent after The Fall, the story behind them, and Sherlock's reaction. Alternate ending here-<br/>http://archiveofourown.org/works/774400/chapters/1454719</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

I'm bored. JW

I miss you. JW

Please come home. JW

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

I met someone beautiful today. JW

Their hair smells amazing. JW

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

Their hand is so warm. JW

Even you would like them. JW

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

It doesn't seem right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

They said yes. JW

I want you to be there. JW

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW


	2. Chapter 2

This could not be happening.

Sherlock wasn't dead. He couldn't be. No, Sherlock was hiding. He had to be.

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

John waited. And waited. And waited.

No response came.

*

He tried to carry on normally, he really did. It was just that he didn't know what normal was anymore. Sherlock was his normal, crazy was his normal. This mundane lifestyle could no longer suit him.

I'm bored. JW

That's what Sherlock would say if he were alive. Here, John corrected himself. That's what Sherlock would say if he were here.

I miss you. JW

John knew how Sherlock had always felt, now. Like his brain was too big for his skull. Too many memories, made bittersweet by The Fall, pounded against the inside of his head. Trying to escape.

Please come home. JW

How long had he been sitting in Sherlock's chair, breathing in the scent of the consulting detective? Days? Months? Years, even? Or had it been only seconds, or minutes? He had no idea. Sherlock hadn't texted him back. Maybe he was actually sleeping, or eating.

Or maybe he was dead.

*

John did a double-take. Yes, he really had set out two mugs of tea on the table. He had made one for Sherlock, too, out of habit.

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

He didn't want to start drinking without Sherlock. So he waited.

Eventually he became too thirsty, and drank the by-then-cold tea anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

A little boy came to see him that day. Not to see HIM, of course. To see the doctor. Nobody came to see John anymore.

This little boy was adorable. He had dark curls that somehow seemed to shine. He had clear, bright eyes that looked deep in to John's soul. He was tall for his age.

He looked just like Sherlock.

John had the name on his tongue the whole time. It must have slipped out, because he heard the boy whispering, "Who's Sherlock?" To his mother.

He had told himself he wouldn't do this anymore. After that first painful three days (as it turned out,) he hadn't texted Sherlock once. But his heart hurt, longing to talk to the one person who was forever beyond his reach.

I met someone beautiful today. JW

Sherlock would have instantly hated this beautiful person, whoever it was. He would have done anything to ruin their relationship with John. Sherlock always did. And, to be perfectly honest, John had never tried all that hard to stop him.

He wouldn't have cared that the beautiful person was a child.

Would he have cared that John only though he was beautiful because he looked like Sherlock? It was too bad his friend didn't have any interest in dating; he could have gotten any woman he wanted. He really was attractive.

Maybe if John could make Sherlock believe he was in a relationship, maybe if he could make Sherlock want to ruin this relationship enough, he would come home.

Maybe he should stop wishing for the dead to come back to life.

*

In the end, he couldn't help himself. He lasted almost a week before texting Sherlock (Sherlock's phone?) again. But when the boy who looked like him came back for a follow-up, John broke down all over again. He decided to try and make Sherlock jealous, see if that would bring the world's only consulting detective back to him.

Their hair smells amazing. JW

John closed his eyes and leaned back at his desk. He imagined how his lover's hair might smell. Like shampoo, the expensive kind, but something else too.

He sat up with a jolt.

He hadn't been imagining a woman's smell. That smell had been Sherlock.

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

John needed his best friend back. He was going crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday. I sort of... Passed out. I'll put up two chapters tonight to make up for it! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second chapter for today. :D

Still no word from Sherlock.

John's "relationship" would have to get more serious if there was any to come. Sherlock wouldn't come back from the dead for just any fling.

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

He couldn't rush it, though. Sherlock would have to believe that John was really falling in love. This wasn't a play, it wasn't Romeo and Juliet. People didn't really fall in love at first sight.

Their hand is so warm. JW

That would set Sherlock off. John Watson, actually holding someone's hand. Not trying to get off with them, trying to get close to them.

This really was a genius plan.

*

This really was a terrible plan.

Sherlock was dead. Sherlock had always been dead, and he always would be dead. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn't care if John was falling in love. Why would he?

Even you would like them. JW

John put his phone down on the kitchen table. He hadn't been able to leave 221b. If Sherlock ever came back, and this wasn't where John was, he feared Sherlock wouldn't be able to find him.

That would be a fate worse than death.

He picked his phone back up.

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

John needed Sherlock, plain and simple. He couldn't continue like this, moping about all the time. It wasn't healthy. He would know. He was a doctor.

He restrained himself from sending another message. Natural, it had to seem natural.

He waited two days.

It doesn't seen right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

Why had he said "significant other?" Just "girlfriend" would have sufficed. Maybe significant other sounded more serious.

That was what John told himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Not another text was sent for a month. It was as long as John could bear. Hopefully, Sherlock would think that John was too rapped up in his new girlfriend to text his dead flat mate. Even though said dead flat mate was also his best friend.

Even though said dead flat mate meant all the world and more to him.

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

If this text didn't bring Sherlock back, nothing would.

John gave it an hour before Sherlock burst through his door.

*

An hour later, Sherlock had not burst through his door.

There was one last thing John could try. Within a week, he would be engaged. As far as Sherlock Holmes knew.

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

Three days later would be an appropriate time, John decided. He was officially unofficially engaged. To put himself in the right mindset, John imagined himself taking out a woman for lunch.

They got a private room.

The woman didn't have a face. John couldn't imagine what a woman that he would be involved with would look like.

They talked and laughed the whole time. Then John got down on one knee, and produced from the folds of his jacket a tiny black velvet box.

She said yes.

She had a very low voice, for a woman. John wondered why that was.

He imagined himself taking his bride-to-be around, telling everyone they knew the happy news.

So happy.

Only when he got home would he text Sherlock.

She said yes. JW

*

The disappointment was crushing him.

Not even the prospect of the doctor getting married was enough to bring Sherlock back.

Maybe Sherlock really hadn't cared about any of John's relationships.

Maybe he had moved on.

Maybe he has died.

John had to face the facts. Sherlock was dead. He wasn't ever coming back, no matter how much John wanted him to.

I want you to be there. JW

His last desperate attempt. He silently pleaded with whatever deity was up there that Sherlock would come home. If only Sherlock would come home, John would do anything.

He tried to relax, but he couldn't keep his foot from tapping in anticipation. His gaze was locked on the door, waiting for a tall man with a dark head of hair to barge through it.

The door stayed shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chater from John's point of view! Sherlock starting tomorrow!
> 
> I have written two alternate endings to the story. One where John lives, and one where he dies. You, the readers, get to vote. John's fate is in you hands.
> 
> Warning: I know that I, personally, would have immediately voted for John to live. You might feel that way too. However, Sherlock is a bit of a stalker in that one. Just so you know.

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Sherlock was dead. Why wasn't John? It wasn't as though he had anything to live for. 

Why hadn't the pain killed him?

God, why did this hurt so badly? He hadn't even known Sherlock that long.

A sudden thought struck him cold.

John scrolled through all the messages he had sent Sherlock since The Fall. the words he used in reference to his alleged fiancée caught his eye. Their. Their. Them. Their. Them. They're. Them. They. Not once had John said "She."

Then there was the matter of the imagined lunch. Had he not been able to imagine the woman he would be with, or had he not been able to imagine himself with a woman?

He supposed that would explain the "significant other" as opposed to "girlfriend."

Oh, shit.

John Hamish Watson was in love with a man, and a dead man at that.

He thought about the aforementioned dead man. His scent, the scent John had thought of when he tried to imagine a girlfriend. His pale skin, "so pale, it gleams." He had been describing Sherlock even then.

Those dark curls. Those glossy dark curls. John's fingertips tingled at the thought of running his hands through them.

Now that he had realized, the ache in John's chest burned so badly that he couldn't breathe.

His eyes flickered to the stairs. No. He couldn't. Could he?

Legs moving as if by their own accord, John gravitated up to his room. He sat on the bed, and stated at his desk. At one drawer in particular. He knew the contents exactly.

His old service revolver.

*

"Suicide is not the answer," he told himself. Trouble was, he didn't believe it.

Sherlock was dead. He wanted to be, too.

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

John stood up, and crossed the room. After retrieving the gun, he sat back down again.

He turned it over and over in his hands. I want to die. Turn. Suicide is bad. Turn. I want to die. Turn. Suicide is bad. Turn.

I want to die.

Turn.

Was there an afterlife? If so, maybe he would see Sherlock there. If not, he wouldn't have to not see Sherlock here.

He hoped to god that there was.

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW

With that, John pressed the gun to his temple.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last call for votes! Until about ten thirty, (eastern time zone) on the twentyth of April 2013, you have the chance to decide John Watson's fate!
> 
> Will he live, or will he die? Will there be a happy ending, or one where Sherlock isn't a stalker? You decide!

Sherlock felt horrible.

Mycroft had given him access to the security cameras installed in 221b. He sat staring at his laptop for three days straight.

Suddenly, John sat up. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket, and pushed the buttons rapidly. Sherlock's own mobile dinged.

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

Sherlock wanted to reply more than anything, but he couldn't. John would die if he did. If Sherlock gave any sign to anyone other than Mycroft that he was alive, Moran would stop John from being so any longer.

Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, too.

But John.

He couldn't lose John.

I'm bored. JW

Sherlock gave a sad little smile. John had learned a lot from Sherlock, using his own words against him.

I miss you. JW

The sad smile turned to a sad frown. Sherlock missed John too.

Please come home. JW

Oh, how he wanted to. But John was his home. Home is wherever the heart is, and Moriarty had been right. John was Sherlock's heart. 221b wouldn't be home to him anymore if his return there was at the expense of John's life.

The little John on screen rubbed his eyes, got up, and went in to the kitchen. He made tea, and got out two mugs.

Two.

Poor John. He didn't realize until he had poured the tea and set it on the table. He stared at it wide-eyed for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone again.

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

"I would if I could, John."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John living it is! If you guys want me to, I may post the alternate ending separately. Enjoy this one, though!

John had started working again. Sherlock hated the part of the day when John left, and loved it when he came back.

Sherlock spent the time when he couldn't watch over John reading and re-reading the messages from his best friend. If he didn't get a new text soon, he was going to go crazy.

Crazier.

That day, John's mood was even darker than normal. Sherlock's fingers hovered over his keyboard, ready to send a text to Mycroft should John exhibit any more signs of being ill.

Dark bags under the eyes. Mouth turned upside down. Sick definitely sick.

A flash of metal, a phone.

I met someone beautiful today. JW

No, that didn't compute. John wouldn't look sick like that if he had really met a new girlfriend.

He was obviously lying. But why? He thought Sherlock was dead, so why would he want to text his phone about a new girlfriend? It wasn't as if he knew Sherlock received every text John sent. Or that Sherlock was even alive.

It made no sense.

John probably hoped that Sherlock was alive, nothing more. That would explain the texts as a whole, but not the lie.

What could John gain by telling a dead man that he had a girlfriend? None of the usual motivators (greed, guilt, hatred, love, anger) applied. Except- of course! Love. John wanted his best friend back.

It made perfect sense.

Nearly another week passed with no more gratification than watching John come and go. And sleep. Watching John sleep was the best part.

When John slept, he looked so peaceful. Fluffy dreams played behind closed eyelids. Sometimes, he murmured Sherlock's name.

Their hair smells amazing. JW

Sherlock smiled a bit. John missed him enough to lie about having a relationship.

He wished he could see John's face, full of hope and longing. Would this message finally be the one to push Sherlock over the edge?

Poor John. What must it be like to live like that?

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

Living from day to day, his only satisfaction being an occasional text to a dead man.


	9. Chapter 9

John was so... So adorable when he was trying to con Sherlock in to abandoning his defenses.

"Why, Doctor, I thought you were AGAINST people getting killed!"

That wasn't quite fair. John didn't know that he, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade would be killed if Sherlock came out of hiding.

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

Ha! He really liked NO ONE. They DIDN'T EXIST.

Their hand is so warm. JW

Oh, that was rich. John didn't hold anyone's hand, not really.

Except Sherlock's.

That had only been to escape, though. John hadn't meant it as anything more, did he? If he did... Sherlock didn't know how to feel about that.

John was moping about the flat again. Wandering aimlessly, like a ghost.

Even you would like them. JW

He was in the kitchen now. Setting his phone on the table, and staring at it. Thinking.

About what?

By the way John was flexing his fingers, picking the phone up again. Tempted to text Sherlock, not wanting to make the fake romance seem rushed. In the end, temptation won out.

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

Maybe it would be better if John moved on, found a real girlfriend, stopped obsessing over his dead flat mate.

It was pure torture, to not be able to see John. Worse, even, to not be able to explain that he was alive.

Two more days passed with John laying around the flat (when he wasn't at work) in a similar fashion.

It doesn't seem right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

Sherlock gave a sad smile. "Significant other?" Was John trying to sound like he was too serious for just plain "girlfriend?"

That was kind of adorable.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about love and emotion was in no way, shape, or form mine. That bit was purely Sir Arthur Coanan Doyle.

The following month was utter agony for Sherlock. Every time his phone chimed with a message from Mycroft, Sherlock dove for it, hoping it would be John.

It never was.

Stupid bloody Mycroft. Why couldn't he just leave Sherlock alone? He was perfectly fine.

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

Sherlock was not perfectly fine.

He wanted nothing more than to stomp right down to Baker Street and demand an explanation. John owed him one.

But Sherlock owed it to himself to keep John alive.

Why was John lying about this girl? He was compromising the whole situation! If Sherlock was to actually go and try to stop John from getting married, John would be killed.

Good thing the girl was fake.

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

John was desperate. The happier he pretended to be, the sadder he actually was.

Sherlock watched as his best friend daydreamed. It was three days after the alleged decision. John's eyes were closed as he thought.

He looked... Not happy. Hopeful. Yes, that was the word. Hopeful. John was going to announce his engagement.

John's fiancée was lucky she didn't exist. If she did, she would have a very angry (jealous?) Sherlock to deal with.

Jealous. Why had he thought that? He was most certainly not jealous.

What was there to be jealous of? Nothing, there was nothing.

Was there?

"But love is as emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement."

They said yes. JW

Surely it was only the fact that he missed John. John was trying so hard to get Sherlock back, but he had to stay away. For John.

Sherlock wasn't sure if that made him a very good person, or a very not good one.

Good Things:  
1\. Protecting John  
2\. Protecting Mrs. Hudson  
3\. Protecting Lestrade  
4\. He wasn't dead, not really  
5\. Protecting John  
6\. PROTECTING JOHN  
7\. PROTECTING. JOHN.

I want you to be there. JW

Not Good Things:  
1\. Hurting John  
2\. Hurting Mrs. Hudson  
3\. Hurting Lestrade  
4\. Everyone thought he was dead, so he might as well be  
5\. Hurting John  
6\. HURTING JOHN  
7\. HURTING. JOHN.

Paradox.


	11. Chapter 11

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Was John being serious, or was this all a part of the charade?

John had given up on him.

Of all the possible outcomes of the situation, this one had never occurred to Sherlock. He'd assumed that John would wait until Sherlock could come back.

There was the phone again. John scrolled down the screen, looking, but not sending anything.

The tiny eyes on screen grew steadily less tiny. John leaned back on the couch, in a state of shock.

Was something wrong? Had Sherlock broken his best friend beyond repair?

Sherlock pressed his nose to the screen of his laptop.

"John. You're okay. You're fine. Please be fine. I love you."

Suddenly, Sherlock's face was three feet from the computer. Those words... They had just slipped from his lips.

But he had meant them.

Oh, god. John was straight, achingly straight. He would never in a million years consider a relationship with Sherlock. Emotions, emotions were clouding his judgement.

Besides, even if Sherlock came home, there COULDN'T be a relationship. Because John would be DEAD.

He'd rather watch John move on without him than let that happen.

John was looking at the stairs now.

Why?

Walking towards, then up the staircase. He still seemed dazed. Once in his own room, John sat on the bed. Staring. At what? At his desk, at the drawer that contained...

His old service revolver.

*

"Suicide is not the answer," Sherlock heard John murmur.

Sherlock was outside, hailing a cab before he even registered getting up. "221b Baker Street!" He spat at the cabbie.

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

"As fast as you can!"

Thank god Mycroft had made Sherlock's wifi mobile. He could see John get the gun from his desk. Turning it over and over in his hands.

Mycroft.

After telling his older brother to getba team there as soon as possible, Sherlock urged the cabbie to increase speed.

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW

With that, John pressed the gun to his temple.


	12. Chapter 12

"JOHN!" Abandoning all precautions, Sherlock yelled for his best friend, his love.

Emotions were taking over- Sherlock couldn't think clearly. Where had John been? Bedroom, his bedroom.

Sherlock flew up the stairs.

"Not now, Sherlock. I'm writing a suicide note for Sherlock. Sherlock?"

The consulting detective gathered the consulting blogger in his arms. A pen fell from John's now- limp fingers. Sherlock took them in his own and blew, simultaneously massaging feeling back in to the hands.

He leaned his forehead against John's. "Shhh. I'm here. I've got you," Sherlock whispered. "I love you."

Shit. Sherlock's filter needed repairs immediately.

"No, you don't."

Frankly, Sherlock was surprised John could even talk, let alone call Sherlock a liar.

"I do," He pulled John closer.

John continued protesting. He was struggling now, trying to pull away from the embrace. "Let go of me, Sherlock."

Reluctantly, he complied.

"I wasn't lying, John..." Sherlock struggled to find words that adequately expressed what he was feeling. He settled on, "I only realized about half an hour ago."

A small smile tugged at the corners of John's lips. "Me too."

Processing. Processing. John loved him back!

Sherlock was overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions. So overwhelmed, in fact, that he could no longer control his movements.

His lips were suddenly on John's.

"Sorry. So sorry, John. I didn't mean to do that. It won't happen again."

"For a genius, you really are an idiot sometimes," John stated. "What did I just say?"

Their second kiss was initiated by John.

A soft cough came from the doorway. Mycroft and Detective Inspector Lestrade stood staring. "Sherlock," the DI marveled, "you're alive."

"And he's snogging Doctor Watson. I had been under the impression that John was in immediate danger."

They explained that he was, before Sherlock saved him. There was even the beginning of a suicide note.

'Sherlock,

I know you won't ever read this, but I'll write it anyway.

This is my note.

That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note.

I've been miserable since you jumped. Why did you do that, anyway? But today, I realized something.

I love you. I know how you detest emotions, but I can't help it.

If you were really reading this, I suppose you'd be wondering what happened to my mystery woman. Well, she never existed. I was trying to get you to come home. You always did love to ruin my paltry relationships.

Not that I really minded.

My plan failed. You stayed dead. I'm still glad I did it, though. I never would have realized I love you if I hadn't.

Their. Their. Them. Their. Them. They're. Them. They. Not one single she, Sherlock. In my subconscious, I wasn't really talking about an imaginary woman. I was talking about you.

My life without you wasn't really a life at all. So I thought to myself, what about the afterlife? And here I am, writing a note to a dead man. It's not that odd, I suppose. I've been doing it all along.

Although, now I'm killing myself for this dead man.

Goodbye, Sherlock, but hello is not far off. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.'

John then told Sherlock that it hadn't really been "the beginning" of the note. All he'd had left to do was sign his name, and there would have been a bullet in his brain.

"Your brother saved my life."

"And you saved his. For that, I thank you," Mycroft stated begrudgingly.

After he and Lestrade had left, Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. Some form of telepathic communication passed between them.

The two men leaned together, resting their respective foreheads in each other.

John had thought Sherlock was dead. Sherlock had thought John was most likely dead. Yet there they were, alive and together.

"I love you, John."

"I love you, too, Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I've probably mentioned the alternate ending. (Once? Twice? Ten million times?) If you guys want, I'll post that, too. With a link here. Let me know if you do!


End file.
